


Raise the Bar

by Sapphylicious



Category: KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Danger Kink, Gun Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're junkies, addicted to whatever will give them that rush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise the Bar

"How the fuck did they find out who we are?"

Kame's knuckles are white gripping the wheel and his severe brows are drawn down sharply, lips tight and profile fierce. He keeps his eyes on the road, though, glaring hard enough that Jin half-expects the car in front of them to spontaneously combust in an orange ball of flame, shrapnel flying and its stupid vanity tag twirling in the air.

"Whatever," Jin says, slouching lower in his seat with a crinkled flyer in his hands. The word **WANTED** is emblazoned above his photograph, and he can't help but smirk at the picture the police used. It captures his good side at least. "It's not so bad – having this handsome face plastered all over town, I mean."

"But how did the cops identify us?" The question is going to eat away at Kame for the rest of the drive – fortunately not much longer.

Jin ignores Kame's neurosis; it's one of several and Jin knows there's nothing he can do about this one. He flips to the other flyer and examines the black and white photo of his partner's face – also good-looking (almost as good-looking as himself). "Man, it's like we're celebrities."

Kame snorts in response, and uses his right turn signal before taking the exit. Jin crumples one flyer into a ball and, in a moment of bored inspiration, uses the other to make a paper airplane, which he sends sailing out through the lowered window.

"Didn't your mom teach you not to litter?" Kame snipes when they come to a stop at a red light. His fingers are drumming against the steering wheel now, anger giving way to the spiking anticipation that always hits right before a gig.

"Didn't your mom teach you not to rob banks?" Jin props his elbow on the window and checks out the girl in the car beside them. She notices and turns her head slightly towards him, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. When she lifts them their gazes connect, her soft-looking lips curving, but then the light turns green and the car pulls away. Jin wonders if she'll recognize his face on the wanted posters later. If she'll tell the police, "I'm sorry, Officer, I couldn't tell you the make or model or license plate or even the color of the vehicle because I was too busy eyefucking the devastatingly sexy stud inside."

Okay, she probably wouldn't say that, but still. Never let it be said that Jin doesn't do his part.

They pull into the parking lot at last. Kame turns off the engine, but pauses with his fingers wrapped around the key.

Jin reads the question and gives it voice: "So are we gonna do this?"

In answer Kame slides the key out with a quiet snick and unbuckles his seatbelt.

Jin leans up eagerly and makes an automatic reach for the glove compartment where the ski masks are stowed.

Kame stops him. "Don't bother. There's no point anymore."

No arguments; Jin hates the itchy fabric on his face anyway. They get a plain canvas bag and an AK-47 each from the trunk, nice and showy. Showing is all they need, but the guns are loaded in any case. Sometimes punching some holes in the furniture helps convince others that they're serious. Before closing the creaky lid, Jin traps Kame against the car to reach around him, getting a whiff of cheap motel soap and the underlying scent of Kame's skin. The body against his is tensed and coiled, breathing just a little fast, and Jin lets his grin brush against Kame's ear. The police know who they are so it's that much easier to get caught, and the thrill of it is like fucking flying.

"Let's go," Kame murmurs, pushing against Jin with a sinuous twist to emphasize – and yes, _let's go_. 

"So this is like our debut," Jin says. He pulls back with a Beretta 92 in hand, checking to make sure the safety is on and tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

Kame rolls his eyes. "You aren't going to let that idea go, are you?" But there's a slink to his walk as he crosses the lot with Jin swaggering after, and Kame wears a definite smirk when he goes through the swinging glass doors, assault rifle raised. They're greeted by shouts and screams. How's _that_ for a platinum record?

"Everybody down, now!"

Jin fires a short burst upwards and bits of plaster rain down from the torn ceiling. A young couple dive to the floor, hands over their heads. A mother clutches her child to her chest. There's an old man slowly lowering himself to his knees, and a teenager already lying flat. Jin stares at the teen longer than the rest, and then flicks his gaze up to meet Kame's. _Watch that one – you never know what dumb fuck will try to be a hero._

Kame paces casually among the shaking figures, keeping an eye on their movements, while Jin goes to the counter and offers the female bank teller a smile. "I'd like to withdraw some cash. How about this much?" He swings the canvas bag onto the counter.

The girl is young and completely terrified, poor thing, hands pale and trembling. As long as they stay where he can see them and don't go for the alarm, she won't have to worry about a thing. She looks obedient enough, cute but not his type.

Speaking of his type, he hears Kame order softly in voice that doesn't belong in public: "Don't even think about it, and keep your hands flat." In reply there's low, muttered swearing, half-scared and half-pissed.

Jin can't help swiveling his head around with a crooked grin to see Kame standing over the would-be hero, the tip of his gun pressing against the base of the guy's skull. 

"Please don't..." the mother stutters out, rocking her eerily silent child. Kame doesn't move at first, but then he begins to ease the barrel away. 

Then a starburst of pain explodes at the back of Jin's head, and he pitches forward, stumbling a step. "Mother _fuck!_ "

Kame's eyes narrow and his lips thin around white teeth. When Jin looks up, disbelieving, he sees the teller backing away with her mouth hanging open shock, and an older man standing there with a paperweight clenched in his fist that Jin hopes doesn't have his blood on it. _Damn_ , he should have checked to see if anyone else was hiding behind the counter.

Before Jin can do anything else the sound of automatic fire fills the building and bright patches of red appear on the man's pristine white shirt. His body shakes and convulses, falling, the heavy paperweight tumbling from his hand and thumping on the floor. The teller starts screaming.

Jin watches a rivulet of blood drip down, making dark spots on the carpet. Then he whirls, grabbing Kame by the arm and trying to loosen what seems to be a death-grip on the rifle. "Kame. Kame, we need go. He probably hit the alarm. Kame."

Finally, Kame gives a jerky nod and they make a run for it. Jin yanks open the car door and takes the driver's seat, tossing the AK-47 into the back. Sirens split the air in conjunction to the rumble of the engine, and he hardly waits for Kame to climb in the other side before tearing out of the parking lot. 

"Slow down," Kame breathes out, still sounding dazed. Jin forces his foot to ease up on the gas so they're going the speed limit just like all the other cars around them. Hiding in plain sight. There are flashing lights in the rearview mirror, police cars turning into the lot of the bank. Jin waits for one of them to peel off and hone in on them, but none do. The wail of sirens recedes. The adrenaline doesn't.

"I killed him," Kame breaks the silence. He's sprawled in the passenger seat, head tipped back, eyes half closed. His voice has a soft, incredulous tone, just like the first time they did this, full of wonder at how simple it was and high off the success. It's never about money. Jin doesn't care one bit about the material gain – he almost tossed the cash out the window once during their triumphant get-away, but Kame wouldn't let him.

"Christ." He glances at Kame again and sees his skin shiver slightly. " _Jesus Christ._ "

Kame laughs and it's a hushed, contained sound. "I really killed him. I did that. Just tore him apart."

Jin finds himself speeding again as they leave the town behind.

"Jin, it was so easy."

His pulse is racing wildly through his veins.

"Jin."

There's a sign ahead that marks a small side road. It reads: Dead End. Perfect. He turns and follows the road as it becomes a dirt path that stops in the middle of nowhere at the edge of the woods. Kame is the one who pulls the brake and immediately climbs into Jin's lap – and as skinny as Kame is, it's still an uncomfortably tight fit. Jin's hand fumbles to find the lever that adjusts the seat and it jars back while Kame's mouth traces hot across his neck.

Fingers search through Jin's hair, probing not-so-gently at the sore area at the back of his head. He winces and Kame's teeth press against skin. "Nasty bump you have here," he says into Jin's neck, then chuckles. "Good thing you have such a thick head."

"Oh, fuck you." Jin fists his hand into Kame's hair and pulls him up for a vengeful kiss, biting at his lip. Kame moans into his mouth.

There's something digging into Jin's spine – the Beretta, he'd forgotten. He squirms an arm back to reach for it but Kame snakes his hand down first, withdrawing the semi-automatic. It gleams smooth and black in his casual grip, its size just a little bulky in his hand, and Jin doesn't blink or twitch when the barrel presses against his temple.

"Trigger happy, now?" He spreads his palms on Kame's thighs, sliding them up and around his hips, cupping his ass.

The pressure from the gun digs in a little harder, then leaves. "You wouldn't believe it," Kame says, leaning forward so their foreheads brush. "Just this—" His finger caresses the trigger. "—Is all it takes."

"I was there, you know," Jin reminds, and the thought should be disgusting, a real turn-off, the way the bullets ripped through flesh and the spatters of blood that marked the walls. His stomach turns, but not unpleasantly, with Kame moving against him. They're junkies, addicted to whatever will give them that rush.

Jin tries to wrestle the gun out of Kame's hand; the safety's still on but it could be too-easily switched off in the cramped space, and besides, there are _better_ uses for that hand. He's not sure how it happens, but with the two of them grasping onto the slick metal the pistol winds up between their flush bodies. The back of Jin's hand brushes over Kame's erection and so does the Beretta.

He hears the sharp intake of Kame's breath by his ear, the way his body shudders, and now Jin has a firm grip on the gun. He holds it heavy against his palm and his mouth goes dry when Kame grinds against the barrel. "Oh, you fucking shameless whore."

A dry laugh escapes past Kame's lips, fanning out across Jin's cheek. "Can I make the obvious joke? Is that a gun in your pocket, or...?"

"Shut up. God, shut up, don't finish that." Jin is mildly horrified to find himself jealous of his firearm, so he finally draws it out from between the heat of their bodies and drops it heavily onto the empty seat or the floor or whatever. Kame's hands are already tugging down the zip of his pants.

Jin lets his head fall back when flesh meets flesh, hot and hard and already slick with precome. He slides a hand down to close loosely around both their cocks, other hand curling around Kame's hip, thumb dipping into the crevice there and encouraging his short, fast thrusts.

"Come on, come on," he repeats under his breath until Kame kisses him, and they're all blunt teeth and clever tongue – so clever, the two of them, and so stupid at the same time. Their little game of serial bank heists gone awry in the best possible way, the worst possible way, whatever will drive that spike of pleasure and the danger of it, closing in on them. Wanted. Wanting. Jin squeezes his hand around them and Kame rocks into it with shallow, panting breaths, buries and twists his fingers into Jin's hair. The twinges of pain are hardwired directly to Jin's cock and Kame has his finger on a trigger again, which he does not hesitate to pull, and the orgasm takes Jin arching and shaking and crashing spectacularly. A chain reaction causes Kame to muffle a cry and spill over Jin's fist, onto his stomach, making a mess between them.

Not like another stain will make a difference on the upholstery. Clothes might be another matter, but as uncomfortable as everything is right now – sticky, sweaty, his legs going numb beneath Kame's weight – Jin can't bring himself to care. His eyes drift shut, soaking in the heat and musky scent of sex thick in car.

A noticeable click is heard amidst the quiet, and when Jin slants his eyes open partway Kame has the gun again with the safety most certainly switched off. The muzzle presses against Jin's chest, counterpoint to the thump of his heart, steadily beating on. Does Kame know that? Can he sense the pulse travel up the short length of metal to his own skin and muscle and veins? 

Jin slides a hand behind Kame's neck, dragging him down. The closeness makes the Beretta dig harder into his breast. Kame kisses him languidly, almost sweetly – as sweet as they can get with a tang of something metallic underneath – and discards the gun because it impedes them. Kame won't shoot him because no one else but Jin can thrill him in quite this way, and the feeling is completely mutual.


End file.
